


On Sundays We Do Laundry

by otatop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Laundry, M/M, Stilinski Family Feels, This is literally all fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 17:25:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/pseuds/otatop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>95% fluff, 5% laundry</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Sundays We Do Laundry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stormysaslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormysaslytherin/gifts), [JoulesIsIronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/gifts).



> For Bailey because she gave me the emergency prompt at 0 notice, and for Julie because school started and I haven't seen her to hug it out.

“This definitely isn’t ours.”  
  
Stiles hummed in what he thought was a _very_ noncommittal way, thank you very much. He plucked out another article of clothing from the basket and tossed it into the washer for lights, completely ignoring the werewolf holding up what appeared to be a god-awful-tan, collared button down. It was just a _shirt_ , gosh. And it belonged in the lights washer. Derek would get that soon enough. Eventually.  
  
Or he would stand there and glare over the wrinkled collar.  
  
“Stiles.”  
  
“It’s just one shirt, Derek. I don’t see why it’s such a problem. We can afford to wash one shirt. We’re living in an apartment complex that doesn’t even have _en suite laundry_. We can definitely afford one shirt.”  
  
This was the part where Derek was supposed to sigh, toss the shirt in the right hand washer, and ruffle Stiles’ hair for being such a doting son. What Derek actually did was reach back into the laundry basket and pull out three more tan shirts, a pair of too-worn jeans, and a pair of tube socks. Stiles could argue till the sun rose for his ownership of the shirts and jeans but he’d fought too damn hard to ban tube socks from their lives to get away with claiming them.  
  
“This is at least half a load of lights,” Derek admonished, brandishing the armful of clothes about. Stiles snatched the jeans away and tossed them into the left hand washer.  
  
“Jeans go in the darks,” he muttered half out of spite, half in hopes that Derek would let them stay there.  
  
“We’re going to have to talk about this eventually.”  
  
The ring on his left hand became quite fascinating just then. So maybe they wouldn’t have gotten to this point in their lives if they hadn’t figured out that ‘talking things out’ actually worked. Did it have to work this time? Was it really _that_ big of a deal? It was just a few articles of clothing every week, nothing that would really make an impact on their lives. They did laundry every Sunday night and they went to the Sheriff’s for dinner every Monday. On Fridays, Stiles went over to the old house on his lunch break. It was really the perfect situation.  
  
For Stiles, anyway.  
  
“C’mon, Stiles. Talk to me.”  
  
Stiles puckered his lips in preparation for looking back up because he could _hear_ the tender expression in Derek’s voice and it was always enough to break his resolve. Lo and behold, Derek had dropped the Sheriff’s clothes back into the hamper and was reaching for the very hand that had become Stiles’ crutch with soft eyes and slightly-non-murdery eyebrows. He pushed Stiles’ thumb away from where it plucked at the silver band so that he could pull the hand forward and press a kiss to the knuckles.  
  
(Six years together and one and a half months married and it was still enough to make his heart race.)  
  
“I guess I just feel like I’ve abandoned him,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth. It was a feat to come across as sullen when a man straight from the cover of a romance novel kissed your wedding band. Derek smiled and pulled up Stiles’ right hand to join the other in cupping his `bearded face.  
  
“We live ten minutes away from him,” Derek pointed out without the condescending edge he normally took on when they argued. “We eat there every week. I’m pretty sure Isaac goes over there a few times a month, too.” Ha, yea, Isaac never really grew out of his college habit of helping the Sheriff with his empty-nest pangs, even when Stiles had moved back in. “And you talk almost every day. You’ve been away from home before.”  
  
“But I’m not moving back, this time.” Not like college. He could handle being away when he knew he’d be going back (admittedly, Isaac insinuating himself as a surrogate helped Stiles as much as it probably helped the Sheriff).  
  
This time, Derek hummed and pressed another kiss to Stiles’ palm. “I sure hope not. You made me wait until marriage just to get you to live with me.”  
  
“People who live together before marriage are more likely to get a divorce,” Stiles grumbled even though they both knew it was a bullshit excuse. “It’s _statistics_.”  
  
Derek huffed a half-laugh against his palm and let the hands go so they were free to scratch at the coarse hair of his cheeks. “ _Statistically_ how are we anything like _people_?”  
  
“I hate to break it to you but putting milk in the bowl before the cereal doesn’t make you exempt, it makes you a weirdo.”  
  
“I’m a werewolf, Stiles. I’d say that’s pretty damn special.”  
  
Stiles let out one barking laugh and stepped forward to wrap his arms around Derek’s neck and start to sway to imaginary music. “This coming from Mr. ‘Being A Werewolf Is All I’ve Ever Known, It’s Completely Normal To Me.’”  
  
“Maybe I’ve started taking your compliments to heart.” Derek tugged at Stiles’ hips and joined him in the rhythm-less dance until they were rocking back and forth to a tempo they both knew well. Right about now, the older man would start humming the same song in the younger’s ear until dancing led to kissing and rumpled sheets.  
  
Of course, marriage made Derek a dirty rotten mood killer as he tilted his head to whisper into Stiles’ ear, “You’re dad can do his own laundry.” Stiles harrumphed but didn’t let Derek pull away from their impromptu laundry room dancing.  
  
“I’m just trying to take care of him.” The thought of his dad all alone in that big house made him sad. The little things like stealing dirty laundry and bringing over surprise casseroles made him feel like he was still around, like his dad wasn’t alone.  
  
“Your dad can take care of himself. He’s a grown man.”  
  
“So am I,” Stiles argued lamely. “I’m a grown ass man who can take care of his dad if he wants to.” There was no heat behind his words but there was a painful honesty that edged them that never failed to make him feel open and a little vulnerable. Derek pulled him closer until they were pressed so tightly together that the little dance became more of a swaying hug. Stiles buried his face behind Derek’s ear.  
  
“I think the person who raised you to be such a capable man can take care of himself well enough. Let him have his freedom until he’s old enough to need help.”  
  
Stiles cursed the day Derek learned logic and strategy. Old Derek would have grumbled and let Stiles do whatever he wanted. And, ok, Stiles loved current Derek and current Derek did have a point. But… it was just laundry and food and the occasional car wash and vacuuming. It wasn’t like he was _smothering_ his father.  
  
Right?  
  
Dammit.  
  
He sighed long-sufferingly into Derek’s hair in the way that admitted his defeat. “Ok, ok, I see your point. But the day my dad retires is the day I do _all_ of his laundry. Consider this your warning.”  
  
“The day your dad retires is the day he can move in with us.”  
  
Surprise had Stiles pulling back fast enough to make his neck crack, eyes so wide they very nearly popped out of his skull. Derek didn’t look like his words were a joke gone too far or like they surprised himself (which happens often enough when a smug teenage werewolf gets stuck in a misery-induced monosyllabic-rut for several years before attempting to break back out of his shell).  
  
“Ok, so just in case my Derek-reading abilities are skewed from shock or something- are you serious? Like- serious, serious? Because you can’t just say things like that.”  
  
“I’m always serious,” Derek deadpanned and Stiles _psh_ ed in his face. “I mean it. It’s a long time off, but if you’d want- if _he_ wants to, Stiles, if _he_ wants to- the Sheriff can come live with us. Later. In the future.” He bent his head forward and looked Stiles straight in the eye and enunciated the next words dramatically. “If you stop trying to baby him now, when your dad retires you can _ask_ him if he would like to move in with us.”  
  
He felt a little giddy, like he might actually vibrate out of his skin with happiness. It wasn’t just the concept of having his dad around again (no matter how far off it may be) it was the idea that he and Derek would be together long enough for it. And, yea, ok marriage was pretty freaking final in the “having a future together” department but actually making _plans_ for the far future…  
  
And hell yea, Stiles was making plans for the far future. “Dad would _love_ being around for the grandkids, you know.”  
  
Derek raised a brow. “Kids, huh?” It wasn’t something they talked about in detail aside from the one and only pre-marriage conversation of _You want kids someday? Ok me, too_ and the post-marriage conversation of _Is three bedrooms enough for us and two kids? Ok, good_. Stiles refused to feel awkward about bringing it back to the surface because that’s what married adults did. He nodded and Derek made his decision making face (usually reserved for choosing one brand of peanut butter over another). “We should probably start looking for four bedroom houses instead of three then, so we can adjust our budget.”  
  
Stiles pinched Derek’s arm and went back to dancing a little more enthusiastically than before. “We eloped so we could put all of our ‘Could actually afford a nice wedding’ money in a ‘Could actually buy a house” account. And we live in an _apartment complex without en suite laundry._ Besides- isn’t that how mortgages work or something? What’s to adjust?”  
  
“This is why I’m in charge of the money,” Derek said with a fond shake of the head. Stiles grinned because _yea ok_ Derek was more fiscally responsible but Stiles had _fashion-sense_ and really. If it were up to him they would end up with a gorgeous monstrosity of a house and debt up to their chins. But at least it would have a _pool_.  
  
“I knew this whole talking things out thing was a good idea,” Stiles conceded. Derek didn’t point out that _he_ was the one who had wanted to talk, instead pulling away to throw more laundry in the washer. Before the wolf could protest, Stiles dived for the remaining tan shirts and threw them in the right washer with a triumphant _HA!_  
  
  
Derek shoved the tube socks in his face.


End file.
